


Smoke and Mirrors

by Hibibun



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Dom/sub Undertones, M/M, Manipulation, Pre-Canon, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-25
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:41:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26095765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hibibun/pseuds/Hibibun
Summary: Elias offers to help Jon quit smoking. He doesn't particularly feel that strongly about it, but when presented with another incentive, Jon finds himself going along with it anyway.for day 2 - manipulation & caretaking
Relationships: Elias Bouchard/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71
Collections: Jonelias Week 2020





	Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> i couldn't decide which prompt i wanted to do and decided to do both at the same time. sure elias likely just doesn't like the notion of jon smoking for other reasons, but it's... sort of caretaking right? 
> 
> this scenario grew on me a lot and if i have time at a later date i'd like to return to it. this is the start though as it's enough for a prompt, so here we go!

It starts with a harmless, albeit likely patronizing, observation.

“That’s a nasty habit.”

Jon’s eyes flick up and away from the hand steadying his lighter, the smoke already starting to drift off the end of his cigarette. He’s used to such comments. Generally, people are even worse about it, go on about how he’s polluting the air and so on—hence, why he’s even on this side of the building, which has more or less been claimed by the other smokers at the Institute.

However, he’s pinned by the fact the words came from none other than Elias Bouchard, Head of the Magnus Institute and currently his boss’s boss. He finishes his inhale, carefully manages his exhale without it sputtering into the coughs his rapidly beating heart want him to make. Evidently, Elias doesn’t smoke or approve of it, which makes Jon wonder if he simply comes out here to make such comments.

“I’ve been meaning to quit,” Jon shares a bit defensively, though it has been a half-hearted thought with even more abysmal attempts. He’d never really been one to handle stress well and seemed to come back to it no matter how many days he’d managed to avoid lighting one. It doesn’t help that in general his attempts to find anything of use or lucidity at the Institute have only ended in fairy tales and irritation.

“I can help, if you’d like,” Elias offers and there’s something in his tone Jon can’t identify that makes him uneasy. Reminds him of why exactly the remark he’d made managed to bother him.

Lately, if Jon isn’t mistaken, Elias has taken an interest in him. In his arrogance, he would like to think it had something to do with his work, though the reality is it’s doubtful anything he’s done as a mere researcher would be enough to catch the attention of the head of the Institute. No, the exchanges they have more rely on things expressed during his initial interview that he’d put out of his mind. Considering how busy the man usually is, he hadn’t been sure whether to chalk up the interlude between their meetings to be one of sudden disinterest, or if he had been actually dealing with other matters. It comes as a strange relief that the latter appears true, though as usual, he is uncertain as to why.

Either way, needlessly, Jon has impressions on the mind. And while he does not believe in the idea of changing yourself for approval, he also can’t deny that it would be an utter shame to lose this man’s attention over something as simple as a cigarette. Against his better judgment, though, ‘ _Would it really be such a bad thing if he quit?_ ’ Jon wonders—the stick in his hand steadily wasting away to ash.

“How do you propose to help?” 

Wordlessly, Elias holds a hand out, expectant. Jon stares at his hand, then up at him.

“May I have the rest of what you have on you? I wouldn’t be so cruel as to force you quit cold turkey as it isn’t always safe, but I can help in moderation.”

Hesitantly, Jon digs in his pocket and drags the pack out. He places it in Elias’s waiting palm, trying to ignore the momentary brush of their fingers. Next, he asks him about his habits. About how many does he burn through a day and when, before carefully counting out how many he thinks he should have between now and the next time they meet.

“I cannot make you stop entirely, but I would be delighted if you manage some restraint. Tomorrow, if there are leftovers you refrained from smoking, I have a surprise in mind. If you cannot manage it, well, then there’s always next time, but this is a good starting point wouldn’t you say?” Elias asks rhetorically, and Jon feels strange looking at his smile. Intrigued at what he possibly thinks would be a worthwhile surprise. He licks his lips and lets himself have a puff before the whole thing burns out, using the excuse that he needs to exhale to look away from Elias and his odd smile.

“I’ll do my best I suppose, if you’re that serious about it.”

“Excellent,” he hears Elias say, but doesn’t look at him, fearing what he might see.

* * *

Of the seven handed back to him, there’s only one he has to give. Jon had almost used that one too—forever a victim to sleepless nights and itching for something that might put him at ease.

Still, Elias placates him and they repeat the same exchange. Jon hands him his new pack, unopened, and Elias counts out the next set he’s allowed. It’s difficult to read his expression again as while he had at least one to give, something about the exchange still leaves Jon feeling like he’s disappointed him. Elias doesn’t say as much, but it strikes him like it’s true anyway.

“While your progress is _slower_ than I might have anticipated, I’m a man of my word.”

He digs through a drawer in his desk momentarily, before bringing out a stack of papers. 

Jon stares at it suspiciously, unsure how it is much of a surprise at all. It mostly just looks like… work.

“Feel free to read it here or take it with you. It’s a copy anyway, so you may do what you like with it, but I think it may be of some interest.”

After another moment of hesitation, Jon takes the stapled packet, glancing over the front to confirm it is indeed a statement. He must make a face as Elias laughs.

“I promise it isn’t another assignment. I just would like you to read it and maybe share your thoughts.”

His eyes are already wanting to skim over what it is that Elias would think is interesting to him. With a stiff politeness that was beginning to feel silly given their current arrangement, Jon nods shuffling the papers closer to his chest and stands.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

Elias doesn’t betray another hint of what it might be and is suspiciously business like in his dismissal. Their meeting had hardly reflected that, but it isn’t something Jon intends to comment on. Whatever was going on, the answers might already be in his hands and with a bit of frustration, he knows he’ll have to wait until the evening to really dig into it. He can only hope next time he’ll garner some kind of understanding. 

* * *

He isn’t sure if he’s smoking because of what he read, or because he doesn’t want to see what else Elias has for him. Either way, by the time he’s crushed the butt of his last cigarette into the ashtray his stomach is swimming with a mixture of relief and regret. He’s lying a little when he says he doesn’t want to know more—it’s the whole reason he even started working at the Institute in the first place. A fact Elias apparently bothered to remember from his interview. It’s terrifying though, the reality it could be real and not simply a fabricated tale that has an easy to stomach explanation. Something he’s spent a long time trying to convince himself of, even while knowing himself the supernatural must exist.

Lying farther away on top of all those issues is the root of what started this all. He’s thoroughly swallowed his fear in smoke and will have no spare cigarettes to give tomorrow. It hasn’t done anything for how scared he feels, and worse, he loathes the dread piling heavier at whatever signs of disappointment will be waiting on Elias’s face.

Or maybe, there won’t be anything there at all.

He still doesn’t know why Elias is doing all this, and he even admitted quitting won’t be easy.

It isn’t the first time he’s had a dream about the statements he’s investigated. Even if he steadfastly denies the claims and feels justified as he comes up with nothing for many of the cases assigned to him, certain instances in the investigation or in the initial tales themselves if the giver is a good storyteller are enough to get to him when he sleeps. He always feels a little silly for that in the morning—writing it off as an over active imagination and a life too focused on work.

Still, this dream surprises him for its sheer vividness compared to the others.

In front of him is a familiar parlor full of comfortable looking couches, some with hand-embroidered cushions, plants tastefully decorating its corners, and a vast amount of paintings taking up almost all the available space of the walls. He has never been in this room. Never seen it, but it’s nostalgic— _the type of room you’d expect in a period piece drama or at a grandparents’ home._

The words filter in, and the scene shifts. There is a woman now seated at one of the settees, her gaze untrustingly glancing about the room. The room is empty otherwise, only with an entrance way into it from the front hall, and a side door leading to another part of the house.

The woman reaches for her purse, makes a move to open it before sighing and changing her mind.

_She was running late. It was a bit odd, and I was starting to get a little antsy. I hate being in that room in general, but, well, it was hard to request waiting somewhere else politely. I mean the poor old woman was pretty much on her own—I just wanted to check in like I did every Tuesday afternoon, and then be on my way. Really there wasn’t anything wrong with it. When you got past the decorations… it was actually rather cozy._

Wildly, the woman twists around at the large family portrait hanging just behind her seat. There wasn’t anything particularly odd about it. A big family of six, stiff and bunched together, neither smiling nor frowning. Simply existing. Staring.

_What I didn’t like was how narrow it was. How little space it felt like was actually in the room; and worse you… when you were in there by yourself, the pictures had a weird sense to them. I can’t explain it. It just felt like they were watching you._

She quickly looks away and takes a deep breath. Then, she stares directly ahead. Jon panics, feeling like she is now looking directly at him, but her expression quickly breaks down into anguish and terror. Fear clear across her face, she whips her head instead to the other side of the room now and fixates on a door there. Shakily, she raises and rushes toward it. The door hadn’t been there before, and the moment it closes, isn’t there at all.

_You have to understand; I know it sounds crazy, but it was the only thing that felt right at the moment. I-I think I knew the door wasn’t there before. I had been in that room a million times before, I knew pretty much every inch of it because it was so horrible to be there, but that’s why I **had** to go through it. I just wanted to get away from all those creepy eyes staring at me—_

Jon cannot see inside the door—Trisha Wellen was unable to describe properly or in any coherent manner what was beyond that door. Just that it felt like she was stuck there for a very long time, until suddenly she wasn’t several days later. What terrifies Jon more though is the undeniable truth that he had been one of those eyes behind the paintings, and despite knowing everything in her statement did nothing.

It was a dream. Ms. Wellen was shaken, given her statement, but it and the follow up were enough to scare him, clearly. The fact she has been listed missing for a little over a year as well doesn’t help matters. There is nothing he could have done to help that woman as the event in question happened two years ago and it was just a dream.

He is out of cigarettes and feels cold.

* * *

“Why did you give me this?” Jon starts their conversation, by dropping the statement back on Elias’s desk, maybe a tad harsher than intended. He doesn’t address the actual reason for these meetings first, and based on Elias’s expression, he finds that awfully amusing.

“Now then, irritability usually doesn’t crop up until after a few days of deprivation. I know you’re better than that Jonathan,” Elias tilts the conversation in a different direction purposefully. Jon feels pinned under those eyes, accusing him of weakness in what the other _knows_ is an unfair assessment.

“You know exactly what has me ‘irritable’,” Jon starts, his eyes flicking away again, but only to land on a series of portraits of the previous heads of the Institute. He shivers involuntarily remembering the words that brought him in here. When he can look at Elias again the man is still staring at him as if sizing him up. It’s difficult to tell whether the reaction he’s displaying is one that feels actually reasonable or whether he’s somehow failed whatever test this was supposed to be.

“Please, sit,” he directs, the words feeling more like a command than a polite suggestion. Once Jon is obedient in the matter, he continues speaking.

“Let’s try this again. How are you feeling this morning, Jon?”

“I’m fine, just…” he almost admits he’s unnerved, maybe worried, “confused. I haven’t ever seen a case like this. It’s jarring to see something that might be credible I suppose, but who knows? I certainly have no way to contact Ms. Wellen about it. I can only assume it has some truth to it because I can’t fathom another reason you’d show me it.”

The why still lingers heavy in his throat, but considering Elias’s reaction when he’d opened with that he isn’t sure he’ll get that answer. From the way he’s looking at him, it must be true though, as frightening as that reality feels to accept.

“Does it discourage you?”

Jon isn’t sure which aspect of their arrangement Elias is referring to with his question. He was never particularly dead set on quitting smoking to begin with, merely went along with it out of curiosity, and the vague notion that he knows it would be better for him. If he’s talking about what he came here to find, then that’s a more complex answer.

He isn’t discouraged, so much as sent back spiraling to things he doesn’t want to admit. All along, he’s known that these things exist in the world and that even if his own encounter felt so brief, he couldn’t be the only one to have an experience like it. Denying that for so long simply felt easier. Bearable.

“No, no I need to know… just surprised to see something that didn’t feel fabricated.”

“I told you it would be a surprise. If you’re still interested, I assure you there are more in the Institute if you look hard enough. For now though, let’s get you sorted out.” Seamlessly, Elias changes the subject once again and waits patiently for the same exchange they’ve been making. He clicks his tongue when Jon has nothing to offer him from yesterday, but dutifully counts out the amount, taking one less than he’d given the day before, which Jon does not comment on.

“I understand why you felt it necessary to use them all, given how shocking this must be, but if you do wish to stop, best not to make a habit of it.” He’s trapped again by Elias’s eyes and he tries to squash down the definite sensation he’s disappointed him. Why that matters so much should be the more alarming question, but instead Jon quietly pockets the box again and chooses his words carefully.

“If I have more questions… will you answer them if I can keep up with it? Or was this the only surprise you had?” Jon asks, tone just slightly bordering shaky.

“You’ll just have to find out,” Elias answers him all pleasant looking smiles once more. “I believe they’re looking for you down in research, and I have scheduling to work out, so that will be all for now.”


End file.
